Change of Plan
by ShutUpAndPull
Summary: A morning-after (4x23) one shot, minus the nosy mother and the hungover daughter.


**Change of Plan**

She felt him before she saw him, before he made any discernible sound at all, really, and her skin instantly craved his touch once again, the touch she'd wanted but had denied herself for far too long. She'd imagined so many times what his body might feel like under hers, what his hands might feel like buried in her hair, what his breath might feel like against her neck, and she finally now understood the pure ecstasy born of those realities. All the chaos from the previous day – the roof, the battle, the resignation, the loss – had carried her to his door, to his arms, and despite their staggering burden, she stood there in the early morning light of his kitchen carrying only the weight of want.

"You were a lot noisier last night," Kate purred without turning around, an audible wink in her tone. She reached for the stove's knob and turned down the flame under her pan of eggs as she rubbed at the back of her bare left leg with her opposite foot. "Were you ever planning on saying anything?"

Rick rounded the end of the bar and leaned his weight against the edge of the counter at his lower back, the cool sensation of its marble a welcome contrast to the increasing warmth of his skin. His eyes journeyed her form from top to bottom as memories of their first night together flashed across his mind like the lightning they'd been surrounded by as they'd made love over and over again. She was like nothing he'd ever seen, sublime in her naturalness and impossibly beautiful, even from behind, draped only in the relaxed cotton of his white button-down shirt, and he wanted nothing more than to have her.

"I'm pretty sure I'd make you blush if I said what I wanted to say right now," he told her as he gripped the edge of the counter for the balance to defeat his swirling brain. "Either that or you'd smack me," he snickered. The fact was he didn't want to talk at all. He imagined far better uses for his mouth as she turned slowly towards him and he discovered she'd only fastened but a few of his shirt's lower buttons.

"Who knows, Castle, maybe you'd like it," she teased, pulling a bite of steaming egg from the end of the spoon with her teeth. She moved across the kitchen towards him, her eyes drinking him in as his had her, and she leaned in to press her lips against the skin along the curve of his neck, cooking spoon still in hand. "You definitely taste better," she said, following a soft hum of satisfaction.

Her hair was wild from the storm, from his bed, from his fingers, and he couldn't think straight. She was every bit the woman he knew, and yet there, now, she was so much more. The notion that he helped in any small way to draw this new sense of freedom out of her excited every inch of him. "You should try me with syrup," he half-joked, his finger tugging gently at the placket of his shirt to pull her against his body.

Kate came without a fight, her lips already parted in anticipation, and he met them with fervor, his arms wrapped around her waist almost selfishly, in a way that silently affirmed his vain recognition that no other man would ever again experience the pleasure. Her tongue baited his coquettishly and he could feel the wicked grin she tried futilely to suppress. She tasted deliciously of coffee and smelled of spring rain, and when he finally had to pull back for need of air, he cursed his lungs for their failure in the face of such riches.

He exhaled a sigh and she traced a finger along the curve of his lip. "Morning," she spoke softly, reaching around his body to drop the spoon onto the counter and free her hand. "I made us some breakfast, but I'm not really sure I'm in the mood for food anymore." She drew her fingernails upward along his arms and folded her hands together around the back of his neck. Her eyes fell to his lips in that way that always made his pulse race – like during that case, like before that kiss, like last night as she said the words he so longed to hear.

"Is this really happening?" he wondered aloud to the universe with his eyes closed in hope. Kate grinned and pinched at the skin beneath her fingers. "Ow! What was that for?"

"Just doing what we detectives do and gathering evidence. Did that feel real?"

Rick released his hold on her waist and brought a hand up to try and soothe his skin. "I might need to file a police brutality report with Gates, jeez."

Kate rolled her eyes clandestinely. "You wanna know one of the things I've always loved about you, Castle?" she cooed.

His hand stopped moving and immediately his attention became laser-focused. "Sure do," he answered eagerly, with every ounce of boyish enthusiasm she would've expected.

"I've always loved how manly and unbreakable you are." She tried her best not to smile, but she couldn't help herself.

"Oh, okay, sure, tease all you like, Detective. You'll have plenty of time for it once my report's filed and you're placed on administrative leave."

Kate pressed in tighter against him. "There's only one problem with your plan, Castle," she said, punctuating each word with a swift kiss. "I'm not a cop anymore, remember?"

"Shit, right," he grumbled. "It's hard to keep everything straight from last night. Your feminine wiles really did a number on my brain, Katherine Beckett."

She brushed aside the hair tickling his forehead and ran her hands through it before seizing his mouth in a deep, lingering kiss. She released a faint moan that tickled her lips and then separated from him. "Well, well, Richard Castle," she said with an air of self-satisfaction, nudging him with her hips, "talk about keeping things straight." She could feel the effect of her body against his, her mouth on his, their heat together.

"Again, your fault," he responded nonchalantly, not at all flustered by his body's uncontrollable physical reaction. His fingers drew gently down the exposed skin between her breasts until he reached his shirt's first fastened button and he went to work at it, followed quickly by the few that remained until the cotton hung open loosely from her otherwise naked body. "And I'm not sure eggs are really going to help." He leaned in and bit playfully at her earlobe. "But…" he whispered.

"Castle," she murmured with a raw insistence, "has anyone ever told you for a writer, you talk too much?" She tucked her finger between his warm skin and the elastic of his boxer shorts and pulled him towards the bedroom without another word.


End file.
